


colors of music

by shairiru



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, M/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2694743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shairiru/pseuds/shairiru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akashi laughs for real this time, and it’s like the sun shining bright, yellow and white, in the middle of a clear blue sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	colors of music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Desy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Desy).



> Midorima is a painter. Akashi is a musician.

Midorima Shintarou has always been a great artist. He knows it, everyone around him does. At the age of twelve, three of his works have been displayed in a national exhibit, and he never fails to win the first prize in every competition he has joined. He has created a name for himself at a young age, and his talent was known even among professionals.

 

“I work where I am surrounded by beautiful music,” he answers when asked about his habits in working six months ago, “I used to paint with classical music, but I’ve recently discovered that I work best with the music of nature.”

 

Six months later and he finds himself at loss in the middle of this very nature. 

 

It is a fine summer afternoon, the insects and birds singing their usual melody, the air filled with the distant laughter of children playing. He is holding his canvas and a piece of charcoal on his other hand, but he hasn’t been able to move it in the past hour that he has been there. He used to see colors with each sound he hears, but now he comes up empty. It has been months since it started, and he’s nowhere near recovering. It just doesn’t work anymore. It is crippling, not being able to draw like he used to. It’s as if he has lost his identity. 

 

He throws the charcoal away, and it breaks into two.

 

“Useless.”

 

 

 

He goes back on that place on an early weekday morning. The wind is cold and the park is empty, save for a few people jogging far away from him. The birds chirp a different music this time, and he thinks he might finally start on something today. His hand hovers above his canvass for God knows how long until the sound of a violin gets his attention. Looking up, he sees a red-haired man sitting on the bench far in front of him. He rests his head on his violin, and after a brief pause, starts playing.

 

Besides art, Shintarou has also always loved music. He has listened to all sorts, but the music the man in front of him makes strikes him differently. It’s like nature is singing, reaching out to him. He finds himself moving his hand, blue and yellow and green blooming across his canvass, and on the center of it all is a bright red. Its intensity contrasts the softness of the background, and he thinks it works perfectly to describe the music the man is playing.

 

But as he starts on painting the violin, a high-pitched screech comes from it and the music is no more. Shintarou stares with dismay at the splotch of black that tainted the canvas. Moving his hands with music while he paints has its negative repercussions, and this is one of them. He hears the man trying to play a certain chord but failing repeatedly, and he watches him drop his bow in frustration.

 

The man leaves, but he stays. He makes some adjustments with his painting; it isn’t that bad anyway. While he works he thinks back to how the man acted and how, in a surprising way, that man and he are the same.

 

 

 

 

It’s definitely a coincidence that the next time Shintarou goes to the park to paint, the red-haired man is on his spot again. He is playing the same music as before, and is now on the measure Shintarou knows leaded to that screech. It isn’t long before it happens again, and he sees the man’s face crumple in frustration over finding the next measure. 

 

“Hi,” Shintarou doesn’t know what came over him, but here he is, standing before the man, a sense of wonder and surprise etched on his face, “Do you need some help?”

 

“Help?” his voice is as soft as his music, and somehow, it gives Shintarou the urge to paint. “With what?”

 

“Your music. I’ve listened to you way back on this same place, and you stopped at that same measure. If you’re stuck, a second opinion can help a little, right?”

 

“Is that how it works for you, Midorima-san?”

 

It is his turn to be surprised. “You know me?”

 

He laughs a little. “You could say I’m a fan of yours. I especially loved _Nature’s Elegy,_ I’m Akashi Seijuurou,” he holds out a hand, “I’m very honored to meet you here.”

 

“I’ve heard of you,” he says as they shake hands. “Aren’t you a big name in business? What are you doing playing the violin here in the park?”

 

“I’ve been always in love with music since I was a child. But succeeding my father came first and I never made music my priority, not until recently. It was quite an uproar, it’s been in the news after all, but at the end, my father agreed to let me go and study music just as long as I promise to come back when I’m needed. It would probably not last long, but it’s all fine.”

 

“So you’re trying to compose something, right now?”

 

“Yes, I’m going to submit this to be a part of our repertoire in the planned concert, so I want it to be the best it can be. But recently, I’m stuck on measure forty-six. That reminds me, I haven’t seen your work for quite a long time now. Am I right to say we are both hindered by an artistic block?”

 

“Six months. That’s how long I’ve been suffering from this block. I’m still trying to find an inspiration, relight the fire in me, but,” he sighs and smiles wryly, “No luck still. My manager told me I should try looking for a second opinion, but it did not help me. Although we can try that with you?”

 

“That’d be an honor, but I want to break through this block on own. No offense to you of course.”

 

“None taken,” he looks at his watch, “I should probably go now. I have to break through my own block soon. It was good talking to you.”

 

“Same.”

 

Shintarou takes his place on the bench behind Akashi and listens to him play. His hands absently work over the piece he created before, adding more details to it with the music that filled his mind.

 

 

 

 

“I like it,” his latest work rests on Takao’s lap, his trained eyes appraising the piece, “Though of course I’ve seen better, but for someone on a block for a long time, this is a very good output. Seems like being at the park paid off, huh. We can put this in an exhibit, sell it...this is a good comeback.”

 

“I told you, I don’t want that publicized.” 

 

He has not meant for Takao to see it. His visit is totally unexpected and he didn’t have time to hide the piece.

 

“And I’ve also said I’ll call you myself if I finish something worthy. Why are you here?”

 

“If I wait for your call, it’ll just take you months again. Besides, this is a perfect timing. This piece is great, I’m telling you! It’s the first time I see you paint a human subject, after all.”

 

“Look,” he pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation, “I’ll paint something else. Just don’t take that.”

 

Takao’s face breaks into a bright smile.

 

“Does that mean you’re completely block-free? Are we about to see your name in front of galleries again?”

 

He takes the painting from his hands and looks at it one more time. There’s a familiar music he hears inside his mind and his hands itch to paint more, a flaming red against a sunset orange.

 

“Soon.”

 

 

 

The next time they meet at the park is another coincidence, one that Shintarou is thankful for. He has tried for weeks, in vain, to find another form of inspiration in other places. But even the sound of the water hitting the shore can’t make him paint the way this park, not to mention Akashi’s music, do.

 

“What do you think?” Akashi asks him after he plays his composition with thirty new measures from before, “It’s not a lot, but I thought you should hear it.”

 

“It’s really good. You know, it actually reminds me of one of my paintings. What was it again...”

 

“ _Ripples on the Field_?”

 

“Yeah, that one,” he looks at him in wonder, “how did you know?”

 

“Well,” he lets out a soft laugh that made Shintarou think of the soft yellow that bursts out from behind thick silvery clouds, “the thing is, that painting was my inspiration for these additional measures. I said that I wanted to break my block on my own, but technically it was your opinion that helped me after all. Second opinions do work.”

 

A strange warm feeling spreads across his chest and he reaches for his canvas inside his bag.

 

“You’re not the only one who thinks so.” He shows Akashi his painting of him playing the violin, “That’s the first one I’ve painted for six months, and it’s because of your music that I was able to move my hands over the canvass again.”

 

“What do you call this?” He sees the sparkle in his eyes, and it makes him unreasonably happy.

 

“ _Fourty-sixth Measure._ ”

 

“It’s really gorgeous,” his hands run over the painting tracing the thick dark lines of the violin, “I can almost hear myself playing and stopping with a screech at that very measure.”

 

“You can have it if you like. My manager wanted to put that in an exhibit but I don’t want to, I wanted to give it to you. You told me you’re a fan, right?”

 

Akashi laughs for real this time, and it’s like the sun shining bright, yellow and white, in the middle of a clear blue sky, the flower field dancing with the blowing wind. “Yeah, I am. Thank you, really.”

 

“I should be the one thanking you for lifting my block.”

 

“Were you here to paint again?”

 

“Yes, I tried other places but nowhere else works.”

 

“Do you think if I play you can finally paint?”

 

“We can try.”

 

He takes the space beside Akashi and pulls out his materials. Akashi prepares one more time. When they are both ready, he plays a different piece though as good as the one before. It isn’t long before Shintarou’s hands move, filling the blank canvass with soft lines, thick lines, warm colors, bright colors, flowing on the space just as Akashi’s music floats around him. He doesn’t realize it when Akashi has stopped playing and watches him work instead over his shoulder. The music still resonates in his mind and he continues to fill the canvas, adding lines and shadows and flare.

 

“Beautiful,” Akashi whispers when he has finished painting. It’s an image of an angel, its wings fully spread, flying over white, pink and orange clouds, the sunlight making its wings glitter. The angel’s hair is as white as the clouds and its eyes pierce soulfully outside of the painting, straight to the person looking at it.

 

“Your music was beautiful, too. I only reflect what I hear on my canvass. Was that your own?”

 

“Yes, I made it some time ago. And did you know I was thinking of flying above the clouds when I composed that? I’m surprised you caught that.”

 

“I can hear it perfectly from your music,” he smiles, and when he looks back quizzically at him, he explains, “When I hear music, I see colors in my mind, and there are times that I can see an exact image. I’ve always painted through that method. The better the music, the better my works come out, I think.”

 

“You flatter me too much. This painting is one of the best I’ve seen of yours.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“I can’t believe you just came out of a six months’ worth of artistic block.” He’s still admiring the painting, his hand caressing the angels’s wings. There’s something in his expression that makes Shintarou feel a little braver to say the words he utters next.

 

“Do you like coffee? I know a good place near here. We could...talk more.”

 

“Well, I’m not a big fan of coffee. But I do like to talk to you more.”

 

When their eyes meet, Shintarou hears a change of key.

 

 

They don’t leave the cafe until the shopkeeper tells them it’s closing time. He drops Akashi off in front of his apartment and they bid each other goodbye. When he drives away, he looks at his side mirror to catch one last glimpse of Akashi, and he sees him looking back, too, and there is a soft, contented smile on his face.

 

He arrives home at almost midnight. He supposes he should be tired, but with the high from the coffee and the great time he had with Akashi, he just doesn’t feel the need to sleep yet. Instead, he pulls out a large canvass from his room and lays it on the ground together with all of his paint. He doesn’t hear any music, but in his mind he hears a soft laughter, a loud, hearty one, a gentle whisper, a fond voice telling a story about his childhood, about his dreams. Akashi’s voice is his music as he frenziedly works with his new piece.

 

When Takao arrives that morning for another sudden visit, he is the one in for a surprise. He sees Shintarou sprawled on the living room, lightly snoring, paint all over his arms. Beside him is a painting of yet another human subject, but this time it was night and the stars glow happily against the sky. The endless expanse of the universe can be seen, and how everything seems to point at the man in the painting tells how that person, however small he is compared to everything else, is the center point of this whole piece.

 

“Shin-chan, wake up,” he lightly shakes Shintarou’s shoulders. He opens his eyes groggily and widens a little at the sight of him.

 

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he yawns, stretching his arms out.

 

“You never know I’m coming. By the way, that,” he points at the piece on the ground, “is worthy to be the star of an exhibition. Please tell me you’re giving me that.”

 

“There’s another one, too, you know.”

 

“You made two?” He looks at him unbelievingly. “In just a month?” There’s something different about him, something alive after all those months of block. In fact, it’s something entirely different. Something he hasn’t seen from him since the day he knew him.

 

“I told you I’m giving you something,” he gives him a smaller canvas but with an equally good painting, a painting of the most glorious angel he has ever laid eyes on. “That’s _Ethereal Song_. That large one is _Endless._ ”

 

Takao smiles, satisified. He’s happy that his friend has found himself again. He hits his shoulder playfully. 

 

“Welcome back, Shin-chan. Please keep whatever that is that pulled you back from the dead. No one wants you lost again.”

 

“Don’t worry,” it’s the greatest surprise of all when Shintarou smiles warmly. “I intend to keep him.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Snow falls steadily outside the cafe. There is an hour left before it closes. A few cars pass by. A group of teenagers chatting loudly walks by. The bell rings as someone exits the cafe. They hear none of these because all they hear is each other’s voice. They notice none of these because they’re busy drowning in each other’s eyes, their foreheads almost touching. Their hands are over each other, wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. 

 

“You’re really sure about this?”

 

“I’ve never been so sure in my life, I think.”

 

Seijuurou smiles and kisses the top of his nose.

 

“Why would you think going to Paris with me is a good idea anyway?”

 

“Paris is a good inspiration for artists, I’ve heard. And besides, you’re there. You’re the only inspiration I will ever need.”

 

“You have to live through my horrible composing in my free time.”

 

“M-hm.”

 

“And the concerts you can’t ever miss.”

 

“I’ll be your number one fan.”

 

A vision fills his mind and he closes his eyes to revel on it.

 

“What can you see right now?” Seijuurou whispers, his breath tickling his nose.

 

“A cottage. In the middle of a field.”

 

“Filled with flowers?”

 

“Yes. I can hear you playing your violin.”

 

“Tell me more.”

 

“There are two kids running around.”

 

“Ours?” he laughs.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Would you like that? Having kids?”

 

“It sounds like a dream with you,” Shintarou hums, his thumb rubbing Seijuurou’s. He sounds so ridiculously in love in his ears, but seeing the shine in Seijuurou’s eyes, he’s ready to drop all the romantic lines he has read throughout his life and say it to him if it means having the entirety of the universe mapped on those eyes. It’s silly how one can still be as in love as him, as them, two years into the same relationship.

 

Seijuurou’s soft laughter brings another explosion of colors inside his mind, and this time he also hears the laughter of the kids running on the field. _Play with us, play with us_ , they say, and he sees himself and Seijuurou smiling at them, urging them to play on.

 

“But you know, I don’t doubt that it can happen in the near future,” Seijuurou’s voice pulls him back to reality, but the sight before him doesn’t seem so far from the visions he sees in his mind, “You’ve been making my dreams come true since the day I met you.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally December(in our country yeah)! Happy AkaMido/MidoAka season :3
> 
> This fic is for Desy, our fluff queen. I might have overdone the fluff, but you deserve all the fluff you can get for all the fluff you have given us. :3


End file.
